


Not Being Noble

by WintermoonTyger



Series: Second person collective [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Diamond & Pearl & Platinum | Pokemon Diamond Pearl Platinum Versions
Genre: Consensual Sex, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 21:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3356297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WintermoonTyger/pseuds/WintermoonTyger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know what you are doing, and you begin to lose it.</p><p>--</p><p>Riley's POV</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Being Noble

You know what you're doing, you tell yourself, a desperate thought in a brain addled with the mires of lust. You are staring down at the object of your desires, with your hands resting on his wide-spread knees, at his beet-red face and black eyes cast to the side, at his bared chest and flesh rippling, at the unzipped crotch of his pants and tented underwear hiding a half-hard erection, all brought to life by your own kiss. You know what you're doing; he has let you in, you are in his zone of consent, and you cannot let him regret it. He is twenty years older than you, full of pride and memories of women and calluses from raising history to the surface and a son into a man, and he is gripping the couch cushions like he is preparing for you to behead him.

You know what you are doing, and you begin to lose it. Your palms start sliding over his knees, down his thighs, and he's even redder by the time they're gripping his hips, and you're even harder as you fight to control your labored breathing, leaning slightly forward, your weight pinning down his waist. All you want to do is drop face down between his legs and devour him; you do not, because all you have done is kissed him, and you want to do that again, as well, on top of everything between his lips and his cock and you know what you are doing, but you're losing it fast to the burn of the situation and he will regret his consent.

To be fair, this is not how you thought it would turn out. In your fantasies, you were a lot cooler, for one, and there were dates and admissions of love, and you knew it would never happen like that, but something vaguely in the ballpark would not have gone wrong. But you're like a teenager with his first girl: you're excited and you want everything but would not last for anything. One hand slips to grab the edge of the couch and the other reaches up to touch the side of his face, a feather's touch because he looks like he's about to cry, and it's your fault because you love him so much and you've been chasing him since you were a brat. You turned down everyone else to pursue a straight man you had no chance with, and here is your chance and you're wasting it. Ruining it, to be honest. Too late to start again, but you swear you know what you're doing as you go forward in both action and direction, leaning in to kiss him and leaning against his lower body, and he intakes sharply before you kiss him again.

The contact between hips makes him sound in pain and you feel like dying, because your pants aren't open and his is and you _push_ , bullying his mouth so maybe he will ignore the rutting and the whine you are about to spill free. Your hand leaves his face to reach down to fight your pants open, and you're too busy in your frantic campaign to realize it's not just you doing all the work.

Until your hand bumps into something funny and wiggly and everything halts. You jerk up and look down and it's another _hand_ helping at your fly and it's not _yours_ and you're knocked from desperation into confusion because a bigger hand is touching yours and he is _looking you in the eye_ and he's embarrassed, too, and he opens his mouth--

"I'm not being _noble_ , Riley."

And your jaw slackens at the same time your waistband slackens, and that _wasn't you_. Then your whole body seizes, and you're even more confused at what happened; even as you look down and watch him grind up into you, you still aren't sure what's going on at all. But you're yanked back down fully and a hand is put on the small of your back, and your hips rolls with his and it feels so much better. He's still red and grimacing, and one eye is closed but the other is on you, genius, he's still looking at you square on.

He finally _**groans**_ and you have no idea what you're doing anymore.

You bite at his neck and lick at his stubble, and if you were not blind with the pleasure of mutual cooperation and dicks rubbing against one another, you would be teasing and coaxing and probably less gross, but he isn't pushing you off or vocalizing disgust, so maybe that will be later. There are nails clawing at one of your arms, and the moment you feel the hand on your back get ahead of itself and grab at your ass and pants and encourage your movements, you feel like you might just lose it.

He's making noises unchecked and it's equally encouraging, but you are breaking and you start trying to explain everything, but it's all coming out in whispered, "I love you, I love you, I'm sorry, I love you," and that's probably even more gross than frotting against another man. The clawing at your arm stops, only to replaced with the clawing at your nape, fingers tangling firmly in your hair, and it's the worst thing to feel that decade's work melt away, because you're happy and anxious-wound and you're probably about to come in a few seconds.

Or immediately. Your body jerks and you're almost confused again, the white lace of orgasm getting to you as far as the tips of your extremities. It hasn't felt that good since your teens.

But then you hear a gruff, "No stamina," and you glance up from being buried in his neck and it takes a minute to realize all is not still and serene, and it was just you. Like a teenager. But you are supplied with an opportunity and you almost take it, mouth watering at the idea, but you don't. Instead, you shift aside and reach down over his chest until your fingers are at the elastic, and they protect him not at all from you slipping inside his briefs with every intention of seeing him to the end. It's your way of apologizing for being young and stupid, and lying about knowing what you were doing.

And maybe you just want to watch him lose it, too.


End file.
